


Friends of Dorothy

by octoaliencowboy



Series: Alfred Stories [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alfred is a good grandpa, Fluff, Gen, I need more Dick and Alfred bonding in my life, alfred is GAY and you can’t change my mind!, dick Grayson is trans, hes also a vampire but that’s not the point of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20245216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoaliencowboy/pseuds/octoaliencowboy
Summary: A recounting of one of Dick’s favourite memories from his teenage years, starring Alfred. A lot of Dick’s favourite memories involve Alfred Pennyworth in one way or another, but this one might be his most favourite of all.





	Friends of Dorothy

**Author's Note:**

> Blatant Alfreds backstory according to me propaganda. Saw somewhere once that he walked out of his own wedding, but I couldn’t find any more details on that so I did what I do best— took a tiny scrap of backstory and RAN

One of the most memorable moments of Dick Grayson’s life was one fine evening in the manor, in the late fall of his fourteenth year, when it was barely after suppertime but the sun had long set. He was nursing a hot chocolate and a bruised ego and a cracked rib. The heat was on to keep the looming chill of outside from infecting the manor’s thin walls, but Dick was wrapped up in a large cozy sweater anyway (Alfred had just taken up knitting as a hobby, and the sweater Dick wore just then was one of his first successful creations, so it was a symbol of love more than it was one of insecurity, Dick told himself, even though the bagginess of the garment and the fact that he couldn’t wear his binder right now, injured as he was, was definitely a factor). 

He was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, fingers curled around the warm ceramic on the knitted coaster on the marble countertop. Alfred was there, of course, as he often was when Dick would have otherwise been alone in the manor, putting dishes away. Dick had been helping, but at one point he almost dropped a stack of plates when the action of raising his arms above his head turned out to be too much for his hurt ribs. They would have smashed all on his head were it not for the butler, who easily caught the plates in one hand and steadied his teenage charge with the other. Then Alfred sat Dick down at the island with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and gratuitous amounts of whipped cream, to finish the chore himself. 

A lot of Dick’s most cherished memories involved Alfred Pennyworth in one way or another. Ironically, he’d started thinking of the butler as a grandfather figure long before he ever started thinking of Bruce as his dad-- Dick had had a dad, but he’d never really had a grandpa, so having an elderly man around to coddle him was new and exciting. Sometimes Dick entertained the idea of moving back into the manor, if only so he could spend more time with Alfred again. 

In any case, on that dark and chilly November evening, Dick had something on his mind.

“Hey, Alfred?” He said, not really taking his eyes off his mug. “How come you don’t ever talk about your life? Do you have a tragic backstory too, or what?” 

“Hardly,” Alfred said lightly.  _ Too _ lightly. “There simply isn't much to tell.” 

Dick scoffed. “‘Scuse my language but that sounds like balls to me.” 

“Master Dick,” Alfred chastised. “Really. It’s hardly proper for me to discuss my personal life with you.” 

“Sorry not sorry.” Dick stewed for a moment, calculating his next move to get juicy gossip out of the butler. “Were you ever married?” 

All that question got out of Alfred was a short, startled laugh. Caught off guard and surprised into telling the truth, he said, “ _ Married _ ? Goodness, no.” 

Dick quirked an eyebrow-- an expression he picked up from Alfred himself-- at him as he put away the last glass in the cupboard and started making some tea. “Why not?” 

Alfred sighed as he filled up he kettle. “The opportunity never arose, is all. Nothing very dramatic about it.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Alfred was always the perfect picture of composure, proper posture, upright and unflappable at all times. Dick had never seen him slouch, and probably never would, but right now the butler was leaning ever so slightly against the kitchen counter while the water started to boil, a casual action that seemed almost unnatural when performed by him. He looked… tired. 

Then something clicked in Dick’s brain, and he got it. 

“Was there ever someone you  _ wanted _ to marry?”

A pause. Alfred looked down, as if there was a physical weight to his memories. “Yes.” 

“But you couldn’t marry that person.” 

“No.”

Dick kept his eyes trained on Alfred while Alfred kept his gaze fixated on the kettle. He waited for an elaboration of some kind. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t really want to grill Alfred playing twenty questions all night. 

Eventually, “Well, I suppose you’ve caught me. I was-- or I suppose I should say I am, obviously I never stopped being-- a friend of Dorothy.”

Dick snorted. “A friend of Dorothy-- man, you are  _ ancient _ .” He sobered up a little, then, but the smile remained on his face when he said, “That’s cool, though. It’s cool. I’m glad you told me, Alfred. I actually, uh… I think I might like guys, too. But I’m not sure yet. I’m kinda still thinking about it.”

Alfred smiled, too. “Thank you, Master Dick.” He said. He leaned over and placed a cool, weathered hand on Dick’s shoulder (Alfred’s hands were always cold. Dick wasn’t sure why. Might be an old man thing. Though he didn’t know exactly how old Alfred was, either-- he was always just… ambiguously old). “And that’s quite alright, to not know yet. I didn’t realize myself until I was in my twenties. I chose a rather inconvenient time to make such a discovery, as well. Walked out of a wedding, I did.” 

“Was it…  _ your _ wedding?” Dick looked torn between disbelief and great glee, eyes wide as saucers. Alfred just smirked at him. 

“It was supposed to be.” 

Dick howled with laughter, pushing his hot chocolate away so as not to spill the stuff everywhere. “Oh my god, nooo!” He giggled, and cackled, this development for some reason being the best thing had ever heard ever, until his cracked ribs protested rather painfully.

Alfred went back to the kettle, then, which had started to boil, but Dick could still see a smile over the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s terrible or amazing!” Dick continued to laugh despite the aching in his torso. “What were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that the prospect of spending the rest of my life with that woman, any woman, in fact, made me feel rather empty.” Alfred said matter-of-factly. “I was thinking that I’d much rather spend my life with a man instead. So I walked out. Right there at the altar, in the middle of our vows.” 

“See!” Dick slapped the countertop gleefully. “I knew you were lying when you said there wasn’t anything to tell!” 

“And you’re not going to be hearing any more of it.” Alfred sniffed. He turned around to pull the tea bags out of the cupboard, his back to Dick. “I’ve shared quite enough already.”

It was evasive, again, but this time Dick let it happen. He couldn’t stop grinning, not when he was armed with the knowledge that Alfred, prim and proper Alfred, paragon of sophistication Alfred, had once done something well and truly  _ nuts _ . 

A part of him wanted to ask about the person that Alfred had wanted to marry but couldn’t, but he didn’t dare ask about that now. That would be a story for another time, hopefully.


End file.
